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Suffering from backlash, with his spiritual power in disarray, just as Chen Moqing was about to regulate his breathing again, his body was already enveloped by a massive shadow.
A large puff of fluffy fur wrapped around him, the snow-white, dense hair carrying a warm, scorching heat, completely overwhelming his vision and invading his senses. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of blood staining a patch of fur. He raised his hand to gently push it away, only to be enveloped by even more fur.
The massive form of the Demon Emperor pressed down like a collapsing mountain range, completely imprisoning the slender human cultivator beneath him. His chest was forced tightly against the thick-furred belly of the beast, while his silk-like black hair splayed across the snow-white fur that resembled a thick blanket, making his long, slender fingers buried in the fur appear as pale and jade-like as ever.
This scene was strikingly similar to a powerful demon capturing prey of a noticeably smaller size, ready to feast.
However, Cang Shun merely lowered his head, his jaw slowly pressing against Chen Moqing’s hair. His retracted claws gently pressed against Chen Moqing’s abdomen, injecting a searing warmth as he channeled spiritual power into him.
Chen Moqing leaned back slightly, using his arms to support himself and prevent falling to the ground. Half of his face was forced against the beast’s scorching chest, where he could hear the thunderous, heavy heartbeat.
Powerful spiritual energy continuously flowed into his dantian, coursing through his newly formed spiritual roots toward his limbs—but the energy was far too searing, as if waves of scorching heat were pouring over his entire body. His fingers tightened slightly, involuntarily gripping the demon beast’s snow-white fur.
It seemed… transferring spiritual power didn’t require such a method. Or perhaps this was the ancient demon race’s way of channeling spiritual energy from five thousand years ago.
Chen Moqing tilted his chin slightly, a few strands of dark hair softly brushing against his pale cheek, "I can regulate my breathing on my own."
The furry head pressed against his hair remained still. From within the mountain-like shadow came a soft, nonchalant 'awoo'.
[Benzun has more spiritual power than I can spend. Don’t you worry about it.]
Chen Moqing: This time, it wasn’t a meow.
It was merely a transfer of spiritual power, not like being pierced by ten thousand swords, so it wasn't difficult to endure.
He closed his eyes quietly to regulate his breathing, and the chaotic spiritual energy soon stabilized again.
"That's enough."
Cang Shun remained silent, slowly lifting his jaw and lowering his head to look at the young human who kept his eyes closed.
His face was pale, and his thin, beautiful lips still stained with blood.
Just as Chen Moqing was about to open his eyes, the enormous ball of fluff suddenly pressed closer, rubbing all over his face and wiping away the blood at the corner of his mouth.
Chen Moqing, now covered in fur: "......"
Chen Moqing pointed at the originally pristine fur, now stained with patches of blood: "It's dirty."
Cang Shun let out an 'awoo' as if it were only natural.
[You wash it for me]
Chen Moqing: "Alright."
His voice was warm and pleasant, but Cang Shun fell silent instead.
Without a word, he lay down beside him, eyes wide open—crimson like flowing flames—staring at him unblinkingly.
Like a big dog guarding its home.
Chen Moqing’s consciousness sank into his spiritual sea, and within it, he opened a pair of cold, clear eyes.
The earlier talisman refining had been an abrupt, forced failure, interrupted by a powerful external force.
—The Withered Wood Revival Decree.
That talisman command, created by an immortal tens of thousands of years ago, hangs high in the sky like the slowly opening eyes of a deity, uttering heartless whispers: Life is full of suffering, why struggle?
Defying heaven’s will inevitably ends in ruin.
Three years ago, the young sword cultivator dripped his blood as candles in a dark chamber, refining the lost immortal’s talisman command from ages past.
Three years later, the newly ascended talisman cultivator stood alone beneath the chasm, sneered softly, and unhurriedly raised a finger.
“I refuse.”
His consciousness directly sat cross-legged within the spiritual sea, and a drop of essence blood emerged from the core of his heart.
In the guest room, Cang Shun instantly tensed, staring incredulously at the dot of crimson overflowing between the young cultivator’s brows, like a painted vermilion beauty mark.
That dot of vermilion distantly connected with the transparent talisman taking shape once more in midair.
“Awoo!”
[Are you trying to infuriate me to death?!]
Using heart’s blood to infuse a talisman, refining it with one’s soul—this was the most radical of heretical methods. Once it failed, it meant utter annihilation of both spirit and soul!
At this moment, Cang Shun seemed to truly recognize this young cultivator. Beneath that perpetually calm and composed facade lay a sharp, unyielding sword, one that refused to be sheathed even if it meant cutting itself until drenched in blood!
Within the spiritual talisman, Chen Moqing’s eyes gently closed, fearless and undaunted, like a boat sailing against the current, braving towering waves.
The path of a talisman cultivator, though different from that of a sword cultivator, ultimately converges—refining swords, refining talismans; refining the self, refining objects; refining the body, refining the heart; refining heaven, refining earth—
Contending with oneself, contending with heaven!
He insisted on contending for supremacy until he ascended the Great Path, treading upon the bones of his enemies as he climbed the heavenly steps!
With heart’s blood as the brush and soul as the ink, using his own flesh and blood, he forcibly refined the talisman across two realms!
A brilliant golden light ignited within the dark chamber, like the moon rising high as the stars retreated.
Third-grade Spirit Protection Talisman—complete!
At Qianxuan Pavilion under the night sky, the white-haired woman stood leaning against the railing. Beside her, the girl in a yellow dress suddenly turned toward a direction, her face full of astonishment, "Such powerful spiritual energy!"
Bai Yue’s fingers tightened around the railing, "Perfect-grade..."
"Only a perfect-grade third-grade talisman would possess such surging spiritual energy!"
She lifted her head high, moonlight spilling across her face as she spoke each word with unwavering resolve, "Master, do you see? Though our predecessors may have faded, successors rise in their wake."
Inside the carriage, Liu Yu sat quietly, his hands resting by his knees.
"Yu'er, the item has been delivered."
A steady, elderly voice came from outside the carriage. Liu Yu’s shoulders, which had been tense, relaxed, "That’s good. I hope Brother Jiang... won’t blame the Liu family."
The person outside the carriage silently urged the horses forward, waiting until they reached a deserted area before speaking again, "The patriarch only promised one treasure as your coming-of-age gift. Trading it for that century-old spirit bamboo node means you’ll have nothing left."
Liu Yu smiled faintly and picked up a piece of pastry.
Suddenly, the carriage swayed, and he heard Aunt Zhou's astonished voice, "Such an immense surge of spiritual energy! Who is refining a treasure?"
That night, cultivators across half of Qingzhu City sensed a vast and mighty tide of spiritual energy rushing forth, like a great river swelling and surging. The ancient runes carved into the city walls even resonated with it, lighting up one after another like stars scattered across the night sky.
Such a scene had only occurred two hundred years before, when a Golden Core talisman cultivator defied the heavens and refined a fifth-grade talisman—only for that dazzlingly talented talisman master to fall swiftly afterward, for reasons unknown.
Tonight, that scene from the past was reenacted. Every cultivator who witnessed it knew that another genius of the talisman path had emerged!
"Which fellow Daoist is refining talismans here?"
Under the night sky, a middle-aged man in an obsidian-gold cloak stood atop an inn’s eaves, hands clasped behind his back, his cultivation aura sweeping out openly.
Mid-Golden Core stage.
Head of the Liu Family, Liu Ao.
"Would you care to show yourself?"
A woman appeared before him, her white hair fluttering gently in the wind: "Patriarch Liu, long time no see. You don’t look too well."
Within a single night, Qingzhu City’s two Golden Core powerhouses had come face to face.
"Who does Patriarch Liu think could refine a third-grade talisman?" Bai Yue chuckled lightly, "That fellow Daoist doesn’t wish to be disturbed right now, Patriarch Liu. You should head back."
Ignoring her, Liu Ao only said coldly, "I invite the fellow Daoist to show yourself for a discussion."
Refining a third-grade talisman, even for a Golden Core cultivator, would inevitably entail immense expenditure. Previously, they had killed a Liu family servant and humiliated the Liu family’s reputation. Lying low until now was precisely for this moment.
No matter what, today he would make that audacious fool who dared to offend the Liu family pay the price.
Under the moonlight, the inn stood silent. Liu Ao snorted coldly and took a step forward—
Bai Yue’s sleeves fluttered as several talismans unfurled into an inescapable net, splitting the night into two scenes.
Liu Ao sneered, "What? Manager Bai wishes to see my Liu family’s heirloom treasure as well?"
Bai Yue laughed heartily, "Why not?"
Liu Ao’s gloomy eyes fixed on her for several seconds, his voice cold and low, "Since Manager Bai insists on blocking the way, tonight is over!"
He flicked his sleeve and turned to leave.
Bai Yue rotated her wrist, slowly retrieving her talismans, when suddenly Liu Ao’s figure twisted sharply mid-air. A palm-sized sharp sword shot from his sleeve, brushing past her body in the blink of an eye and hurtling toward the inn!
Utterly shameless!
Bai Yue cursed loudly and flung out another talisman—
Suddenly, a mountain-toppling, sea-draining pressure swept out from within the inn. The sharp sword and talisman shattered instantly. Liu Ao was blasted back several dozen feet, crashing into the city wall and vomiting a mouthful of blood.
[Scram]
A stern, razor-sharp voice echoed directly in the minds of the two. Under its unfathomable pressure, neither Golden Core cultivator present could lift their heads, and even standing was difficult.
"Senior, forgive this offense!"
Liu Ao’s face had already turned ashen, fresh blood continuously spilling from his lips and quickly soaking his cloak. With trembling hands, he clasped his fists, "This junior will retreat at once!"
Within a few breaths, this head of the Liu family staggered away, disappearing from sight.
Bai Yue: "......"
There’s still another expert?
She looked down at the inn, now quiet again. The voice of the senior just now was completely unfamiliar. Thinking carefully, it seemed Jiang Yu only had...
She silently sat cross-legged, shook out a bag of melon seeds her good disciple had kindly provided, and began cracking them under the moonlight.
Inside the guest room, Cang Shun narrowed his eyes coldly, his sharp claws digging into the inn’s floor, leaving deep gashes.
No wonder he absolutely needed the third-grade Spirit Protection Talisman—this was not the level of difficulty a normal cultivator should face when breaking through to Foundation Establishment!
Those crimson demon eyes gazed deeply at a blood-stained figure—the young human sat with eyes closed, a golden talisman floating above him. Beneath his robes, his slender frame trembled slightly, blood continuously seeping out as if he were a beautiful white porcelain vessel filled to the brim with liquid, now cracking inch by inch, soon drenching him entirely in blood.
This scene, Cang Shun had witnessed countless times in the northern reaches of Zhou Country.
Each time, it was deeply engraved into his eyes.
Within the spiritual sea, Chen Moqing’s consciousness was climbing a mountain with no summit in sight.
His eyes, dark as ink, were densely inscribed with radiant golden runes. The profound gold reflected like a tranquil ink lake gilded by the setting sun, utterly still and unrippled.
With each step he took, it was as if he were treading on a mountain of sharp blades, with blazing fire poured over oil, relentlessly scorching his consciousness.
"Qing'er."
A hoarse yet gentle woman’s voice sounded behind him.
"Mother made osmanthus cakes, come home early today."
"Finished reviewing your studies? Go copy yesterday’s discourse on the Dao* another ten times," A man’s voice, drawn-out in tone, followed.
*t/n; In the xianxia world, Dao is the ineffable, fundamental source, principle, and natural order underlying and unifying all existence, reality, and change in the universe.
"Xiao Qing, come here. I’ll advance this month’s wages. Take them to get your mother’s illness treated," A brisk, cheerful woman’s laugh.
The figures of old acquaintances flickered like shadows, tinged with nostalgia, calling him to look back.
Chen Moqing did not turn around, nor did he stop.
He pressed forward, step after step, until the runes in his eyes shattered completely and his consciousness cracked inch by inch, covered in a web of fissures.
For cultivators, the consciousness is paramount. Even mild damage to it brings greater pain than a body enduring a thousand cuts.
Yet at this moment, Chen Moqing’s face showed not a trace of expression.
What was this pain compared to the agony of watching his family perish before his eyes, compared to the torment of ten thousand swords piercing his heart?
He strode forward, taking one final, heavy step—
Treading the heavenly steps, ascending the celestial chasm!
A towering, overwhelming tidal wave surged upward, spiritual energy transforming into a roaring torrent of storm and frenzy, sweeping through the entire spiritual sea.
After the rain cleared, the young cultivator stood alone atop the mountain peak, his robes fluttering in the wind. From his lofty vantage, he looked down upon the path he had traveled.
The light boat has already passed ten thousand towering mountains.
—He had reached the mid Foundation Establishment stage!
In the next moment, a new chasm rose from the ground, even taller and more unreachable than the last.
The mountain peak Chen Moqing had just stood upon became a minuscule base. From where he stood now, the summit of the new mountain could not even be glimpsed.
Chen Moqing calmly raised his head, meeting the gaze of the Withered Wood Revival Decree that still hung high above his spiritual sea.
Although he had replicated this talisman command, its power was too immense and not entirely under his control.
This talisman refinement was an accident. From now on, he would be more cautious.
He sat cross-legged in place, his fractured consciousness slowly mending. This was yet another agonizing process, like having skin stripped away only for flesh and bone to regrow. Yet, his expression remained unchanged throughout.
Unaware of how much time had passed, those clear, deep eyes opened once more.
Before him, a slender red twig quietly sprouted, its tip branching into several delicate tendrils, standing in distant opposition to the Withered Wood Revival Decree.
—This was his own, newly born talisman path spiritual root.
There were eight in total.
Chen Moqing’s thoughts stirred slightly.
Perhaps because they shared the same talisman path origin, the newly formed root was actually protected by the Withered Wood Revival Decree, the sword qi left by Yu Bai couldn’t destroy it.
Once he fully mastered the Withered Wood Revival Decree, he might be able to use it to completely cleanse Yu Bai’s sword qi.
Before withdrawing from the spiritual sea, Chen Moqing took one last look at that towering chasm.
The next time he crossed the chasm, he would ascend to the Golden Core stage.
His consciousness returned to the present world, meeting a pair of crimson eyes, close at hand, glowing like the flowing fire of dusk.
A large, fluffy mass pressed tightly against him, like a fur cloak forcibly clinging to him, not letting a single gust of wind through.
He wondered if it was his imagination, but this Demon Emperor seemed... brimming with resentment.
Chen Moqing raised a hand to smooth down the ruffled fur, “I’m fine.”
Given his condition earlier, it was only natural for Cang Shun to worry about being implicated by their contract.
He didn’t know how many grievances this Demon Emperor had secretly tallied against him, but once the contract was dissolved... a battle between them was inevitable.
Cang Shun gazed at the young man before him, clad in blood-stained robes, dark hair cascading to his waist, exquisitely beautiful in appearance and elegantly poised in stature. Somehow, the raging fury in his heart suddenly subsided by more than half.
...Even he didn’t understand why he had felt so furious earlier, watching this human once again drench himself in blood.
The Demon Emperor fell silent, angrily nudging him, jostling and squeezing around him.
After jostling for a while, it transformed back into a chubby, round little ball of fluff, only about the size of two palms, still with its fur all puffed up, gently bumping against Chen Moqing again and again.
Chen Moqing: Still holding a grudge.
It didn’t matter. Debts were many, but they didn’t weigh him down.
He stood up, his gaze sweeping past the mirror.
The concealment talisman had lost its effect, revealing his original appearance and figure.
The injuries on his body had already healed. Cradling the snow-white little beast in one arm, he shed his blood-stained outer robe.
The outer garment slid off, revealing a tall and slender frame. The inner robe was half-unfastened, baring skin from shoulder to chest that gleamed like polished jade. Clearly defined muscle lines lay over well-proportioned bones, while a cascade of satin-like dark hair draped across his chest, winding along the contours before disappearing into the narrow, taut waist and abdomen, white as mutton-fat jade.
Cang Shun abruptly found himself stumbling into this unexpected sight.
"I’ll call for them to bring water. Would you like to bathe together?" Chen Moqing addressed him calmly, using his original face.
No response.
He lowered his eyes. The snow-white little beast on his arm had frozen into a motionless ball.
Picking it up, he gave it a little shake.
For some reason, the Demon Emperor, who would usually start loudly 'meowing and whimpering' the moment he was picked up, this time simply swayed slowly in mid-air three times before finally extending a paw to grip Chen Moqing’s wrist tightly.
Chen Moqing watched as the snow-white little beast silently crawled back onto his arm, turned away, its fur trembling slightly, and let out a soft 'meow-meow' sound.
[Humans nowadays, how could they be so… so…]
A small, fluffy ball muttering to itself.
Its fur wasn’t puffed up. The snow-white fluff hung limply as it whispered quietly to itself.
Chen Moqing: "Shall we wash?"
[...Wash.]
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